


Like Morning Mist

by lovelygallows



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Memory Related, Mutual Pining, Vague Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 10:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11781684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelygallows/pseuds/lovelygallows
Summary: In which Kuroko is cursed to be forgotten, but Akashi tries his damnedest to remember him.





	Like Morning Mist

Seijuurou meets the boy quite by accident.

The hustle and bustle of the beginning of a new semester has almost finally settled, and he allows himself the weakness of needing some time alone.

He makes his way to the rooftop overlooking the cherry blossom trees in the school – a favorite hideout of his that never fails to offer much needed respite.

But when he reaches his destination, he sees that someone is already there.

A boy with icy blue hair is sitting with his back to the railing and reading a book intently, with a vanilla shake placed on the ground beside him. Slightly pale and thin, with delicate fingers slowly turning the pages, he looks almost fragile. But right now, undisturbed in a little world of his own, he simply gives off an air of serenity.

Seijuurou’s first thought is that the boy is beautiful, but he quickly shoves it away.

As president of the student council, Seijuurou thought he had the names and faces of every single student memorized. For someone to escape his notice is unheard of, not to mention unacceptable.

When he approaches, the boy seems surprised, though his sapphire eyes widen only slightly as he puts down his book.

“Hello, my name is Akashi Seijuurou,” he introduces himself. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The boy nods knowingly. “Nice to meet you, I’m Kuroko Tetsuya.” Then he adds quietly, “Though you’ll forget soon.” It sounded like an afterthought, but he said it with such certainty that Seijuurou feels a twinge of irritation.

“Of course I’ll remember you,” Seijuurou declares, “I remember all the people I’ve met.” Not to mention someone who obviously stands out like the boy does.

Kuroko merely shrugs, a barely-there roll of his shoulders that might have gone unnoticed had Seijuurou not been paying close attention.

There is a resignation about him that puzzles Seijuurou.

Perhaps he’ll try to get access to the boy’s school records later.

 

Seijuurou is walking home alone from school. With summer just around the corner, the weather has been getting increasingly hot for the past few days. But it finally let up slightly today, so he has decided to take the chance to get some fresh air, instead of having his chauffeur drive him home as usual.

He sees a boy with icy blue hair walking a few steps in front of him, wearing the same school uniform as his. He has the distinct feeling that he has seen the boy before, yet he cannot put his finger on when and where, nor can he remember the boy’s name. It bothers Seijuurou, because given his perfect memory, he never forgets a face he has seen before.

He calls out to the boy.

The boy turns, and his sapphire eyes show recognition. Somehow Seijuurou is certain that it’s not just because of his fame in his school.

They introduce themselves, and Seijuurou finds out that the boy’s name is Kuroko Tetsuya. It doesn’t ring any bells, but there’s something about the boy…

“Have we met before?” As much as Seijuurou dislikes letting on his uncertainty, he feels the pressing need to know.

“Since you asked,” Kuroko replies, “as a matter of fact, we have.” He pauses, and then adds, “A few weeks ago.”

Seijuurou wracks his brain, but still he cannot remember, which is odd because the boy seems to be anything but forgettable. “Forgive me, I cannot recall,” he apologizes regretfully.

“Don’t worry, everybody forgets about me eventually,” Kuroko says with a nonchalance that feels… wrong. As if anticipating Seijuurou’s unvoiced question, he clarifies, “No matter how many times I interact with people, the next time they see me again, they have no recollection of me at all, like it’s the first time they’ve met me.” He shrugs, “It’s a curse.”

Seijuurou is not certain if it’s literal or metaphorical, but surprisingly, he’s willing to believe either. It sounds highly improbable, but Kuroko doesn’t seem to be lying. And it explains the strange stirring Seijuurou felt upon laying eyes on him – a vague memory that’s there but just out of reach, like morning mist that disappears at the first light of day.

Even though Kuroko’s poker face gives away nothing, there is such a despondent look in his eyes that Seijuurou feels his heart squeeze. He finds himself coming to a decision.

“I’ll remember you,” Seijuurou tells him, “I’ll try.” There has to be a way around this. “I can… write this down. Your name, your appearance, things about you.” Even if other people cannot remember him, at the very least, Seijuurou would.

Kuroko seems doubtful. “Well… I don’t know about that. I’m very forgettable.” But then the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly, and Seijuurou thinks it’s a good look on him. “And is your memory really as good as you say?” he teases.

Oh, Seijuurou does like a challenge. “Just you wait,” he promises.

He likes the way Kuroko’s eyes shine.

 

After that, Seijuurou finds memos that he doesn’t quite remember writing, reminding him to meet “Kuroko Tetsuya” at the gates after school. It seems that he always finds the boy waiting for him there, without fail.

Always he forgets who the boy is, and always the boy answers patiently.

Even though they live in different directions, Seijuurou walks with Kuroko for a distance, until their paths separate. Sometimes, they simply sit on the river bank together, watching the sun set in the distance.

Sometimes, as they walk side by side – arms brushing, fingers mere inches apart – Seijuurou longs to close the distance, to reach out and hold Kuroko’s hand in his, though he never does.

Yet Seijuurou never remembers any of this after they part ways. It’s only what he reads in a notebook that he keeps for the purpose of detailing these encounters.

In this notebook, he has also recorded facts and observations. He reads it all out loud as he sits with Kuroko, trying to refresh his memory and to see if it rings any bells.

Things like how Kuroko’s best subjects are Classical Japanese and Modern Japanese, and how he has a passion for basketball, though he’s terrible at the sport, and an even greater passion for vanilla shakes, which he seems to be constantly drinking, and how he dislikes cola because he says it rots his teeth.

Tiny, seemingly insignificant details that Seijuurou eagerly drinks in, simply because they pertain to Kuroko. And because Seijuurou finds them quite endearing.

If only he could hold onto them a bit longer.

 

Seijuurou meets Kuroko Tetsuya, and it takes his breath away.

It seems that Seijuurou’s written descriptions of the boy’s appearance are lacking, especially in the face of the real thing in front of him. Words cannot capture the ethereal beauty of Kuroko’s icy blue hair and sapphire eyes – eyes so full of life, telling Seijuurou so much more than his calm expression does, showing that he is far from an emotionless person.

It leaves Seijuurou staring in awe, one too many times, and it makes his heart flutter, though hearts are not supposed to do that, he thinks.

As Kuroko reminds Seijuurou of his condition, Seijuurou wonders how anyone can possibly forget him. Or perhaps it was exactly because of such uniqueness that he was cursed in the first place. Seijuurou wishes that he could burn the image of Kuroko into his mind, that he could hold Kuroko in his arms and physically impress the lines of Kuroko’s body into his.

Kuroko doesn’t say it in so many words, but Seijuurou has pretty much figured that the boy has never been able to form any lasting relationships, not with an existence as transient as mist.

Seijuurou thinks he can understand – how it feels to always be alone.

 

His name is Kuroko Tetsuya, he tells Seijuurou.

Seijuurou has just met him, though his notes say otherwise. So does the warm contentment humming in Seijuurou’s chest – something he’s certain that he hasn’t felt in so long. It feels as natural as breathing, sitting with Kuroko’s head in his lap, his hand carding through Kuroko’s icy blue hair, and talking about everything and nothing.

Yet despite the animated conversation, today Kuroko’s smile doesn’t seem to fully reach his eyes, and Seijuurou feels the sudden urge to chase away the strange sadness, to make sure Kuroko never has to feel it ever again.

He presses his lips lightly against Kuroko’s.

Belatedly it occurs to him how inappropriate this is, but before he can apologize, Kuroko is kissing back – this boy who is somehow more familiar to Seijuurou than anything he’s ever known. His scent that Seijuurou breathes in, the little sounds that he makes, the warmth of his body curled up against Seijuurou’s.

Seijuurou feels as if he could lose himself in Kuroko, with his heart so full like it would burst.

Eventually, Seijuurou pulls back, only to see the warring emotions in Kuroko’s expression – the happiness that Seijuurou is certain he has put there, but also the sadness that still lingers.

Seijuurou gets the sinking feeling that he has failed him again.

“Kuroko?” he asks tentatively, cupping the boy’s cheek in his hand, willing him to meet his eyes.

Kuroko shakes his head dejectedly. “You won’t remember this, will you?”

Seijuurou wants to argue, he really does, but he doesn’t think he can – not when they’ve gone weeks and weeks without any progress to speak of.

But oh, how he wishes he could etch this moment into his memory.

 

“Why do you even bother?” Kuroko Tetsuya demands.

Seijuurou looks up from his notes, pausing in his reading.

“Pardon?” he asks, even though he heard Kuroko perfectly.

“ _This_ ,” Kuroko says, waving his hand in a gesture that is meant to encompass everything – this little universe that the two of them seemed to have created together. “What is the point of this?”

He lunges forward, his hand shooting out to grab at the notes. Even though Seijuurou has just met him, somehow he instinctively knows that Kuroko is rarely so agitated, despair showing clearly in his eyes.

“Whoa there!” Seijuurou exclaims, pulling the notes out of Kuroko’s reach. “That’s enough.”

Kuroko doesn’t stop, as if hellbent on ripping the sheaf of papers to shreds.

“Tetsuya!” His given name rolls off Seijuurou’s tongue easily.

Kuroko’s body slumps against Seijuurou’s, all the fight gone out of him.

“You always try so hard, but you never remember,” he whispers in a broken voice that makes Seijuurou’s heart ache. “You have no idea… how long it has been.”

Seijuurou does know, but only factually. Five months and six days, according to his notes.

But Kuroko is right – Seijuurou has no idea how it feels for him to be the only one who remembers every single one of their encounters.

“I’m sorry,” Seijuurou feels the need to say.

“It’s not your fault,” Kuroko counters immediately.

“It’s nobody’s fault,” Seijuurou emphasizes, “Not even yours. Don’t you think that for even a second.”

He pulls Kuroko into his arms with such ease that should give him pause, except it simply feels… right. “We’re here, aren’t we?” he assures Kuroko. “We’ll make it work.”

“That’s what you always say,” Kuroko mutters, so quietly that Seijuurou wouldn’t have caught it if they weren’t so close.

“Well, I’m always right,” Seijuurou announces, “and I always keep my promises.” He holds Kuroko tighter. “I’ll remember you.”

As the autumn leaves start to fall around them, Kuroko looks up and his eyes bore into Seijuurou, as if trying to memorize his features.

As if he’s the one trying to remember everything.

 

Seijuurou finds a memo that he doesn’t remember writing, telling him to go to the gates after school, though not stating what for.

Yet when he gets there, there’s nothing waiting for him. Just the autumn leaves falling, and a clear sky above his head.

He’s puzzled, but as he’s unable to come up with a satisfactory explanation, he brushes it off for the time being.

Shivering slightly, he thinks he ought to wear more layers, since he gets cold easily.

 

It’s just another normal day. After school, Seijuurou walks home by himself, as usual.

But… since when did this become usual, rather than having his chauffeur drive him home?

_I may be going away for a while._

He stops in his tracks.

_You don’t have to come looking for me._

Who said that?

_You’ll forget everything soon enough._

The words sound almost… painful.

Faintly, Seijuurou recalls only a fleeting echo, accompanied by glimpses of a retreating back, nothing actually tangible.

He sifts through his memory, but he cannot remember anyone who could have said that. He must have dreamt it, he concludes.

So why does this pain feel like his own?

 

Seijuurou is cleaning out his school desk, and inside, he finds a notebook that’s a little bit dusty.

But before he can open it out of curiosity, one of his classmates calls out to him.

He sets it aside, thinking he’ll deal with it later.

 

Lately, there’s been this hollowness in Seijuurou’s chest, a sense of restlessness in his very being that he cannot shake off. Like there’s something important that he has forgotten, nagging at the back of his mind, clawing at his heart.

Yet he cannot identify the source, and it frustrates him to no end.

The cold of the impending winter is unrelenting.

 

Seijuurou receives a package in the mail in December.

He thinks it’s an early Christmas gift – until he sees the simple birthday message written on the card that came with it.

If he’s surprised that someone remembered his birthday and even bothered to send him something, it’s nothing compared to what he feels when he sees its contents.

It’s a light blue scarf, hand-knit and just this side of lumpy. The color is oddly familiar, and for a moment he sees a flash of… _something_ , yet it eludes him before he can get a firm grasp, like mist in the morning.

The gift is far from perfect, but somehow it is, and he finds himself clutching it close to his chest and burying his face in it, as if seeking some forgotten warmth.

To his astonishment, he feels tears streaming down his face and onto the fabric, though for the life of him, he has no idea why.

 

Seijuurou meets the boy quite by accident.

On his way to school for a new semester, he sees the boy walking a few steps in front of him. He suddenly finds it hard to breathe.

Something about that icy blue hair and those sapphire eyes calls out to Seijuurou – as if something deep in his soul recognizes the boy from some other life, even though his mind doesn’t, not rationally.

The hollow in his chest rapidly fills up, swelling with some unnameable emotion that should be foreign to him, yet feels so familiar.

Seijuurou doesn’t know what to call the boy.

“Wait!” he calls out, almost desperate. “Please wait!”

But the boy keeps on walking, seeming not to hear.

In the faint light of early morning, he seems almost incorporeal – like mist that might fade away at any time.

Seijuurou has never been this scared in his life.

He follows the boy, almost breaking into a run, with his hand outstretched.

Just as the boy is about to turn a corner, possibly lost forever, Seijuurou finally catches up with him.

He throws his arms around the boy, and holds onto him like a lifeline. His warm body fits just right in Seijuurou’s arms, like it’s where he belongs.

Still the boy does not turn around, but the mist finally solidifies into something tangible, into a statue standing stone-still.

A name almost forms on the tip of Seijuurou’s tongue, though it doesn’t come. But it doesn’t matter.

“It’s you.”

The boy lets out a breath that Seijuurou hasn’t realized he’s been holding, and his body goes slack, leaning back against Seijuurou’s. He lifts up his arms to hold onto Seijuurou’s encircling him.

“You remember,” the boy breathes.

And then he’s shaking like a leaf. There’s a slight tremor in his voice, but it’s real now, not something that will scatter into the wind at any time. He simply _is_.

“I’m sorry for leaving,” he says, just above a whisper, but Seijuurou is hanging on to his every word. “It’s just… I didn’t think you’d ever be able to really remember me, and I couldn’t stand it, every time you looked at me as if you didn’t know me at all.” He takes a deep breath, slightly shuddering. “I thought it’d be better for both of us, if we stopped seeing each other, but maybe I was just being selfish.” He turns around, still clinging to Seijuurou. “I guess, in your own way, your memory really is pretty good, huh?” he chuckles lightly.

“Come on, give me some credit,” Seijuurou almost huffs, his voice a little hoarse. He thinks that perhaps he should be at least a little bit mad at the boy, but among the flurry of emotions rushing through him, anger is the last thing he’s feeling right now.

“Oh sure, because Akashi-kun is always right,” the boy deadpans, but the effect is ruined by the shimmer in his eyes.

Then a smile blossoms on his face, and Seijuurou, somehow knowing it’s a rare sight, thinks he would like to see it more often, and feels himself answering with a smile of his own.

Seijuurou has just met the boy, but he knows that neither of them will ever let go again.

 

Between the two of them, a tiny universe is born – unforgettably vivid and breathtakingly beautiful. But in truth, it has been there all along.

 


End file.
